


If The Choice Were Mine To Make

by TravelingSong



Category: The Blacklist (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Lizzington - Freeform, One-Shot, classic fic fun, in which Red and Lizzie grow closer and closer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 10:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19105501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TravelingSong/pseuds/TravelingSong
Summary: "Why did you leave earlier, Lizzie?"He doesn't waste a second."It's complicated.""Try me."She doesn't know where to begin.





	If The Choice Were Mine To Make

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure we’ve all listened to songs that immediately made us think of our OTP. That’s where the inspiration for this fic stems from and @imyourplusone thankfully convinced me to just go with it.
> 
> So here goes the story of Red and Liz bantering, flirting, longing…and whatever comes at the end. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. Let me know your thoughts!

The first time it happens she’s waiting for him on a park bench.

There’s a flea market close by, people gathering and strolling from booth to booth, searching for some bargain treasures and long forgotten gems, and somewhere, resonating from their midst, is music. Just loud enough for her to make out the lyrics, to hum along absentmindedly. A song she has heard before, Billy Joel, an old favorite, and it’s a particular line that seems to stand out to her, that seems to echo louder than the rest.

_So I would choose to be with you.  
_ _That’s if the choice were mine to make._

It’s a hand on her shoulder that interrupts her musings, that stops her mind from wandering.

„Please forgive my being late, Lizzie.“

As he moves around the bench to sit next to her, his concept of personal space virtually non-existent, his demeanor is all apologetic looks and friendly smiles. And just as the song fades out, just as the words begin to vanish from her head, she notices that his timing is, oddly as it may seem, impeccable.

* * *

The second time she doesn't think about it much.

She's stuck at her desk, headphones plugged in, some old playlist she had put together ages ago keeping her company while she tries to wade through the folders stacked up on the floor. It's making the amounts of paperwork at least somewhat enjoyable, she thinks, all this music in her ears, and she doesn't hear him when he knocks, doesn't hear him when he comes in, doesn't notice when he leans against the doorframe and watches her with an amused expression, her fingers tapping along to the rhythm,  _the lights go down_ , and with all the calmness in the world he steps closer,  _there's not another living soul around_ , and waits for the perfect moment to make his presence known.

_And you say that you love me._

"Seems like an awfully catchy tune."

She almost jumps out of her chair when she looks up and he's standing  _right there,_ almost knocks over the paper cup he's placed in front of her.

"I brought coffee," he tells her and his smile is part jovial, part affectionate, and she hastily pulls down her headphones, tries her best to avoid his gaze.

"You could have knocked."

"I did, Lizzie."

"You could have knocked  _louder_."

"Next time I will. I promise. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"What brings you here?"

"I was in the neighborhood. May I?" He gestures at the chair across from hers and she nods.

"So you don't have a new case?"

"All business today, I see."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, I do have a case, actually. But the details will have to wait till Sunday."

"Why is that?"

"Because one of my associates is completing a business operation that morning and will be flown out of Washington on my jet. And if everything goes according to plan, he will have all the intel you need."

"Which means?"

"You should stop by the jet before he and I take off."

"I'll make a note."

"Splendid. I'll be on my way then. I apologize for the intrusion."

"Thank you for the coffee, Red. And you didn't intrude. It's just been a long day."

"You don't have to explain, Lizzie."

And as quickly as he arrived, he's gone. And she scolds herself for letting him leave.

* * *

The third time, she notices a pattern.

She’s on her way to the airport, one last scheduled meeting before he takes off, the roads crowded and her frustration growing, and she's cursing the traffic because she's running late and because she wanted to spend some time with him and because everything,  _everything_ , seems to be working against her.

It's probably, most likely, a conspiracy.

And when she turns on the radio, there it is. Another song.  _So kiss me and smile for me._ Another reminder.  _Tell me that you'll wait for me_. Another plea that leads her straight to him.  _Hold me like you'll never let me go._

And she laughs to herself because this is getting ridiculous and because the car hasn't moved in ten minutes and because he is in fact, yes, that too,  _leaving on a jet plane_.

So.

Without another minute to lose, she takes the next exit and decides on an alternate route, makes her way through one neighborhood after the other, hoping, chasing, until finally the airfield comes into view, a familiar jet parked near the gate, and she gets out of the car and hurries up the steps.

"Lizzie! You made it."

She's breathing heavily as she drops into the seat across from him.

"I'm sorry I'm late."

"Did you run here?"

"Not exactly."

"A story for another time, perhaps. In any case, here's the intel I mentioned a few days ago."

He hands her a manila folder, his fingers brushing against hers as she takes it from him, and suddenly, once again, the melody pops into her head and the lines linger there,  _every place I go_ , and she's staring,  _I'll think of you_ , and he looks at her somewhat confused.

_"_ Is there anything else? I'm afraid I'm on a tight schedule today."

_I hate to go._

“No, nothing else. I'll leave you to it."

She's already standing when he reaches for her wrist and stops her.

“How about dinner when I return? Friday night?”

“Sure, why not.”

“You really do know how to boost a man’s confidence, Lizzie.”

“Dinner would be lovely, Red.”

“That’s better. Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“I will.” She smiles at him briefly before heading to the exit. “I’ll see you Friday.”

* * *

It’s not always quite as straightforward, quite as telling.

Sometimes it's just a single word she catches, a quick phrase out of context, seemingly arbitrary and yet conjuring up images, memories, embraces,  _dreams_. Some type of wishful thinking. Or coping mechanism. She's not quite sure which.

Somehow, if she wants him to or not, he's always on her mind.

* * *

It's Tuesday evening by the time she  _really_  misses him.

The apartment is quiet, lonely, and she turns on the TV in her bedroom, seeks some distraction to mute her thoughts, switches from channel to channel with no particular programming in mind until finally something makes her pause.

It's not what she sees that interests her. It's what she  _hears_.

She knows them well, these lyrics. A little too well, maybe. And she can almost feel it, his hand on her arm and the ocean breeze tickling her skin and the brandy burning in her throat.

_Play your love songs all night long for me.  
Only for me._

With something inside of her that feels like longing, she grabs her phone and dials his number.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

“Lizzie. What a pleasant surprise.”

“You didn’t think I’d call?”

“To be perfectly honest, I didn’t expect you to, no. Which makes this even more delightful.”

“How’s business?”

“Flourishing.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Is that why you called? To ask about my business ventures? Are you planning to invest? You know, I could always offer you—“

“It’s not why I called.”

“Oh. Well?”

“I’m not sure why I called, actually. No particular reason, I suppose. If you’re busy,

I can—“

“I’m not.”

“What?”

“Busy. I’m not busy.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Tell me about your day.”

“There’s not much to tell, really.”

“Are you making progress on the case?”

“We’re interrogating two suspects tomorrow.”

“You don’t sound particularly eager.”

“I’m just tired, I suppose.”

“I should let you get some rest then.”

“Actually, would you mind talking to me for a little longer, Red?”

“No, of course not. Never.”

She wishes he was closer. Next to her. Here.

“You know, I thought about you earlier."

“You didn’t come across a most wanted notice, did you?”

She pictures his quizzical expression, can't help but laugh.

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“That’s a relief. So?”

“So what?”

“Will you tell me about it? What made you think of me?”

“Not tonight, Red, no. But someday.”

“Keeping your cards close to your chest, I see.”

“I learned from the best.”

He chuckles and waits, hopes for her to elaborate but to no avail.

“I’ll let you go, Red. I should probably attempt to sleep. Are we still on for dinner on Friday?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You’ll pick me up?”

“Yes.”

“And where are we going?”

“All in good time, Lizzie. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Red.”

She places her phone on the nightstand and turns off the TV.  _Life used to be so hard._  Hopes for the end of the week to arrive swiftly.  _Now everything is easy because of you._ And closes her eyes.

* * *

"You're early."

"Making up for lost time. And a good evening to you too, Lizzie. You look lovely." She had opted for a ruby-colored dress tonight, it would be somewhat of a reunion dinner, after all, and surely that had to be a good enough occasion.

"You don't look so bad yourself."

"Once again, that confidence boost, Lizzie, I mean really—"

"You always look impeccable, Red."

"Do I now?"

"Where are we headed?"

"You're deflecting."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm just hungry."

"We should get going then."

It's a quick drive, the restaurant only a few blocks from her apartment, and nevertheless she has never been to this particular part of town. She thinks she needs to do better.

"Here we are," he says as he opens the door for her.

"It's a bar." She sounds more surprised than intended. The truth is, it doesn't really matter where they spend the evening. She trusts his taste completely.

"Yes. A bar with one of the most talented chefs in the country. Right this way." He leads her to a corner booth, takes her coat and sits down across from her.

He had been right, of course. The food is delicious and the warm atmosphere makes them forget about the time altogether and it's not until he orders dessert that she notices the music playing in the background.

_The room is crowded, people everywhere._

And she starts recalling all those recent moments that had left her humming along, that had left her  _wanting_.

_Before the evening's gone away,  
_ _I think that we could make it._

And she can't help but smile to herself and he's looking at her, wondering what she's thinking, and she can't stop them, the words on her tongue as the lyrics echo through the room.

_I hope I don't fall in love with you._

“Too late,” she says. And full stop.

_Oh no_.

"What did you say, Lizzie?"

And suddenly it's all over. Because he must have heard her. He must have understood. And this is neither the place nor the time to face the truth.

“I have to go," she tells him in a hurry.

“Are you alright? What's going on?"

But by the time he has stood up, she has already grabbed her coat and moved toward the door.

And he wonders what he's done wrong.

* * *

She makes it home sooner than expected, decides to walk back instead of hailing a cab because she needs the fresh air and because her head is buzzing. She needs to call him tomorrow, she thinks, she needs to explain. Offer him some kind of excuse.

With the evening ruined, she takes off her dress and changes into something more comfortable, knows she'll be awake for a little longer anyway, and he's still on her mind, of course he is, and she hopes he doesn't worry about her, hopes he doesn't overthink her sudden exit.

When she turns on the stereo in the living room, it's mostly out of habit. And when she recognizes the song that's playing, she doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

_Come on now, try and understand.  
_ _The way I feel under your command._

There's a knock on her door then and she has an idea who it could be. There's really only one possibility as she turns the lock.

"Hello, Lizzie."

"Hi."

He looks concerned, she notices, and she wants to tell him that it doesn't mean a thing. That it's all quite silly, really.

"I wanted to check if you were okay. You've been acting a bit odd."

"I'm fine, Red. Really."

"May I come in?"

She steps aside to let him enter, watches as he takes off his fedora and places it on the kitchen table.

"Would you like a drink?"

"No, but thank you. I'd rather like to talk."

He sits down on the couch and she switches off the music and joins him, nervous about where the conversation is headed.

"Why did you leave earlier, Lizzie?"

He doesn't waste a second.

"It's complicated."

"Try me."

She doesn't know where to begin.

"For the past few weeks, I've become unusually  _perceptive_  to music around me."

"Perceptive? How so?"

"It’s as if the songs I have come across are daring me."

"To do what?"

"They mostly concern you, Red. The songs."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You didn’t answer my question."

"Didn’t I?"

"No. To do what, Lizzie?"

His arm is stretched out on the back of the couch and she thinks he could touch her so easily. If he wanted to.

"Be brave, I suppose. To trust my instincts. My desires."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"And what exactly do they entail? Your  _desires_?"

She doesn't know where to  _possibly_  begin.

"Comfort."

He moves his arm, lets his thumb run down the side of her neck, making her shiver.

"And what else, Lizzie?"

"Closeness."

He leans forward, bridges the space between them.

"And what else?"

There's no going back, she knows. She's completely aware. And when she tells him, it's all confidence, all honesty.

"Intimacy."

With a spark in his eye, he takes her hand, presses a kiss to her wrist. To her shoulder. To her cheek.

"Did you mean it?" he asks in a whisper. "What you said earlier?  _Too late_?"

_Because the night.  
Belongs to us._

_"_ Yes."

Gently, skillfully, he guides her toward him, pulls her close, his lips against hers and the two of them falling, falling, falling, reaching for skin, searching, seeking, and somewhere in between mingled breaths, somewhere amongst racing heartbeats, she can hear them loud and clear, the words that echo like a melody.

"I love you, too."


End file.
